


Being Human

by comtessedebussy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bondage, Dom/sub, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Sigils, sub!Lucifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:44:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comtessedebussy/pseuds/comtessedebussy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean, in danger on a hunt, pray to their angels to save them. Of course their angels always come when they call, though they have different ways of showing just what they think of the hunters putting themselves in constant danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Human

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just in love with the angel + hunter pairing, obviously, and I rather love the fact that Dean and Sam each have an angel of their own, who cares for them in his own way.

Sam was pinned against a wall, and not in the sexy way.

“You son of a bitch,” Dean cursed from a similar predicament next to him. The demon smiled.

“Watch your language, boy.” He raised his hand, fingers ready to snap, and Sam threw his head back and prayed. Beside him, Dean stared down the monster currently possessing a snide-businessman, though his mind seemed to be elsewhere.

A gust of wind blew through the room, and Lucifer strode in. Simultaneously, a trenchcoated figure appeared beside him. The demon looked around in alarm, then attempted to smoke out before simultaneously catching fire and exploding in a blast of white light – which resulted in a fiery explosion as Sam and Dean ducked and crouched desperately.

Dean looked at Sam. “Why the Hell is _he_ here?” he demanded, pointing at Lucifer.

“I prayed to him,” Sam explained.

Dean looked aghast and Sam could just see “you prayed to the fucking Devil?” on his lips, but before he got the words out, the other angel appeared beside him.

“Dean. I heard your prayer. Are you all right?” he asked, laying a hand gentle on Dean’s cheek. “Yeah, fine,” he said, feeling the warm glow emanating from Cas’ hand and healing his minor bruises and scratches (“I’m _fine,_ ” he insisted).

Sam turned back to his own angel, who had appeared by his side. “ _Sam,_ ” Lucifer said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. Sam closed his eyes as the Devil whisked him away to a place of safety, leaving Dean behind. His brother had his own angel to watch over him. He would be safe.

They appeared in a lavish room, and Sam smirked because it’s just Lucifer’s sense of humor that it’s probably a bridal suite. This isn’t the first time the fallen angel’s given Sam the opportunity to joke about him being a “blushing bride.” His Devil did like to spoil him, and Sam couldn’t say he minded.

“Sam.” Lucifer stood inches away from him, looking angry, which meant that his voice was calm. Dangerously calm. “You almost got yourself killed.”

“But I didn’t. I have you to look after me, don’t I?”

“ _Sam._ You’re reckless. Do you ever think about what it would do to me if I lost you?” the angel demanded.

“Luci.” Sam’s voice was equally calm, a trait he seemed to have learned from the angel. “You forget your place.”

Lucifer lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry. I worry about you, Sam, you know how much.”

“I know. But it is not your place to make demands of me, Luci.”  

Lucifer nodded, eyes still lowered. “Yes, Sam,” he agreed. “I know my place.”

He left the rest unspoken, because they both knew the punishment for disobedience.

There were few things that Lucifer hated. Sam had found that normal punishments had no effect on him. Hitting, whipping, caning left bruises that healed quickly, and hardly elicited a reaction. Bondage was dull – they both knew that Lucifer would obey without restraints or coercion. Kneeling? He did that so easily before Sam anyway.

But Lucifer still had his pride. He was an Angel, and he was proud of it.

He lay obediently on the wide bed, skin glistening in the light, legs spread. Sam straddled him, still fully clothed and pen in hand. Carefully, attentively, he leaned over the angel, drawing an elaborate symbol on his chest. It was the first of many binding sigils that Lucifer had taught Sam once. The ones that bound his angelic nature, leaving him – human.

“You draw the rest,” he ordered. Lucifer’s lips parted in surprise. This part was new.

Sitting up, he took the pen, and carefully traced the symbols over his skin. He started with his left hand, drawing a long and intricate pattern. He hissed slightly as he added the final mark and the ink glowed. Sam watched, smiling. The next set of marks Lucifer drew on his left thigh, throwing his head back and closing his eyes after the last one was complete. Sam hummed in approval. Lucifer drew the marks were Sam would be able to see them. Just as he wanted.

Lucifer continued, and soon his right thigh mirrored his left. Finally, he moved on to his chest, drawing the last set of marks around the original sigil Sam had drawn. The angel seemed to find no difficulty in drawing the complicated marks upside down on himself.

“What does it feel like?” Sam asked, curiously, as Lucifer hissed again when a completed mark glowed against his skin.

“As if I’m drawing each sign with a knife,” Lucifer explained, “and then tying myself up with ropes of fire.”

Sam breathed in in exhilaration, feeling arousal flood through him as he watched. Lucifer was right when he guessed that Sam liked power. _A lot._

He approached the angel, who drew the final symbol on the left side of his chest. The being on his bed was now helpless as a human – and he knew it.

“But the pain is not your true punishment,” he said softly, running fingers over the inked skin.

“The pain I offer to you as my obedience. My punishment is being as a human.”

“Do you truly think so little of us?” Sam asked, his hands wandering over the angel’s skin.

“All but you, Sam. You’re not like them. You’re like me,” he said softly, looking up at the human before him.

“Or perhaps,” Sam said softly, “you’re like me.”

Lucifer recognized his own familiar tone in Sam’s words. He smiled.

Sam leaned down, kissing Lucifer deeply as he splayed a palm against his chest. He could feel each mark burn below his hand. Perhaps that was why they hurt the angel so. The angel had once told him he burned cold, and fire melted ice. Destroyed it. He smiled, deepening the kiss. He had considered playing with fire today, holding a flame against the angel’s bare skin and watching as his essence rebelled against something so purely antithetical, but this was better. It was not just fire and pain, it was punishment. And Lucifer deserved to be punished for disobeying.

He placed a second palm on the angel’s body, trailing both over the inked marks and enjoying the way that cold played with hot, the burning marks and the cool skin creating a riot of sensations wherever he touched. He watched as the angel squirmed in discomfort below him, knew that his grace was rebelling against the insistent, painful, binding touches, begging to be freed.

“What do you want, Luci?” he asked, watching breathlessly.

The angel murmured his answer. “You.” It was the right one, he knew.

Sam was not gentle. He had no need to be, not with the archangel below him. He was also impatient. The sight of Lucifer, obedient, and the knowledge of his own power coursed through him, more exhilarating than any drug, evoking desire so acute it was painful. And they both knew that pain was not for him. He was not here to obey.

Lucifer’s body awaited him, spread willingly, and he thrust in, closing his eyes and letting out a deep sigh of contentment at the feel of the angel’s body around him. He always felt just right, as if his body was made for Sam’s, as if it was not the other way around and as if Sam’s body was not fashioned to contain Lucifer. He did not wait, did not require Lucifer’s body to adjust to his, for they had been fashioned for each other and they fit together perfectly. He moved, thrusting hard and completely, reveling in the feel of being surrounded so perfectly by warmth. He kept his hands against the angel’s skin, feeling the cold and the burn of each sigil as he moved.

He listened to the angel moan and murmur his name, interspersed with pleas. “I need – “ he began, and broke off as Sam laughed.

“Need is human,” the hunter said. “You need and desire as a human, my angel.”

Lucifer refused to acquiesce, though he knew Sam spoke the truth. His eyes said it for him.

That was enough for Sam. With a final thrust, he came, throwing his head back and losing himself to the satisfaction of his own desire. He was not ashamed of his human needs.

He opened his eyes to find Lucifer watching him in fascination. “Come.” Sam dropped the word of permission, watching as Lucifer succumbed to his own desire at his words.

But they’re not done, not quite yet; not until Lucifer touches Sam gently, caressing his skin. Not until Sam lies down, finally allowing himself to relax while Lucifer kisses every inch of his precious skin, worshipping the perfect human he had given himself too.

And when they’re done, Sam leaves the marks on Lucifer’s skin. The ink isn’t permanent, will fade with time, but Sam wants to make sure it lasts long enough for Lucifer to remember his lesson.

…

Dean blinks.

Castiel had transported them back to Dean’s room after healing him, and before he has time to orient himself, Castiel slams him against a wall.

“Dude,” Dean protests. “What was the point of saving me if you’re just doing what that black-eyed bastard did to me?”

“That black-eyed bastard,” Castiel hissed, “was going to _kill_ you. I saved you, and one day you will be grateful for it, Dean.”

Dean had the decency to look at least slightly ashamed.

“I’m sorry Cas, I – thank you. For saving me. Again.”

“You will get yourself killed this way, and one day perhaps I will be too late to save you. I can’t lose you, Dean.”

“I’m sorry, I”ll be more careful  - “

Castiel ignores his protests, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him over to the bed, where he pins Dean down with the force of his glare. Or his mojo. Dean isn’t sure.

“I don’t think you understand, Dean. _I can’t lose you,”_ Castiel thundered, and Dean swore his eyes glowed as he said it. But below the mask of fury and angelic rage, Dean could read desperation.

Castiel tears Dean’s clothes off, his leather jacket and plaid shirt and jeans flying off into a pile on the floor along with a trenchcoat and business suit. Only Castiel’s tie is left, tying Dean’s wrists together. It’s not tight, the knot hardly intimidating, but it’s the intention that matters, and Dean allows his wrists to be bound, watching Castiel’s fury in fascination.

The angel leans down to kiss him, possessive or protective or both; there’s little finesse in the kiss, no gentleness but only Castiel claiming his mouth and ravaging it. Castiel kisses him like he’s afraid that if their lips part Dean will disappear. He hears the angel growl low in his throat as they continue to kiss, and _Dear God Who Isn’t In Heaven,_ Castiel’s rage makes desire flood through him like an intoxicating drug.

He sucks in a deep breath when Castiel finally detaches himself from his lips, gulping the air down desperately. If he didn’t know any better he’d almost think Castiel was trying to suffocate him with a kiss.

Castiel presses his hips against the bed as he trails kisses, rough possessive kisses, against his skin. Kisses that were meant to be loving but which leave angry marks on his skin. “I can’t lose you,” the angel murmurs against his chest before kissing, sucking, marking.

“Cas, please,” Dean begs. He can still feel the adrenaline of the hunt coursing through his veins, and coupled with Castiel’s rough touches, it forces him to feel his arousal so acutely it hurts. He knows he won’t last long. He lifts his hips, hoping that Castiel will take the hint, touch him, fuck him, anything to take the edge off his desperate need. But Castiel only touches his erection gently, hand tantalizingly still as another one presses him to the bed, making him unable to move.

“I can’t lose you, Dean, do you understand?” he asks.

Dean nods, murmurs a “yes,” and thank God that’s enough for Castiel because the angel proceeds to the fun bit. _Finally._

He never needs preparation with the angel; it’s probably blasphemy, the way Castiel uses his powers, but then again he’s pretty certain that Castiel was never meant to save him as many times as he did anyway.  His body feels ready as Castiel thrusts in, filling him up perfectly.

“Castiel,” he moans, where he had once murmured the name of another celestial being.

Castiel begins by fucking him, his thrusts rough, too rough for the word ‘possessive’ to even cover them. Dean understands the unspoken “you’re mine” each time Castiel thrusts in completely, moans in acquiescence as Castiel hits that sweet spot inside him each time.  And though Dean can feel his angelic fury, though he almost expects Castiel to bathe him in celestial light that will burn him to a crisp, he looks so painfully human, so desperate, that Dean feels guilt and regret at reducing the angel to this.

And then halfway through, Castiel transforms, his fury gone or hidden. His thrusts are gentle, his hands equally so as he finds Dean’s erection and moves his hand quickly in tandem with his thrusts. He leans down to kiss the hunter, gently this time, lovingly, and when he breaks the kiss he murmurs “I can’t lose you.”

And Dean understands then, just then. He understands the angel’s incandescent fury, which is not truly anger but another emotion, more powerful, more all-consuming, more terrifying because it is more human.

He wants to touch Cas, hold him with gentle arms and whisper words into his ear but he’s still helpless, wrists bound as Castiel presses their bodies and their lips together. It is only when Castiel comes inside him, following Dean’s climax, that he feels his hands free as Castiel lies down beside him.

The angel places a hand on his shoulder, and he feels the heat of angelic power as Castiel heals all the bruises on Dean’s skin, the ones that only just began forming to show the claims Castiel had left; he heals these as he had healed Dean’s other wounds, the ones from a demons touch.

“Cas,” he says gently, his fingers tracing a pattern on Castiel’s face. “I understand.” And, though everything in him screams and protests against this concept, he adds “I’ll be more careful.”

Castiel’s eyes feel with gratitude, and he presses their lips together once again in lieu of a “thank you.”

Castiel lies behind him, wrapping his body around Dean’s protectively; even now, he remains the guardian angel Dean never thought he’d have. He leans against Castiel, seeking warmth but also his protectiveness. He hears the rustle of feathers as he closes his eyes, knowing that Castiel wrapped a dark-feathered wing around him to protect him where his body could not. He falls asleep cocooned within the angel’s protective embrace.

 

 

 


End file.
